


i don't speak your language

by thetasteoflies



Series: kay's zutara one-shots: fluff [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Gifts, Quality Time, The 5 Love Languages, Words of Affirmation, acts of service, an exercise in "show. don't tell.", physical touch, the "no 'i love you'" challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29013060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetasteoflies/pseuds/thetasteoflies
Summary: They say there are five (5) love languages: physical touch, words of affirmation, gifts, quality time, and acts of service.How do two people learn to speak these languages?When words fail, what's left?
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: kay's zutara one-shots: fluff [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112990
Comments: 31
Kudos: 128
Collections: The No "I Love You" Challenge, Zutara- some of my fave fics





	1. physical touch

* * *

* * *

They start with physical touch.

Because of course they do.

Because they are both touch-starved, affection-starved warriors made of steel and salt and sweat. And when they put their armor on for battle, they wrapped up their hearts in iron-casings in a naive bid to protect them from the catastrophe of war.

What a foolish attempt.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Katara brushes her hands over his brow, watching him as he sleeps. He stirs at her touch, following her hand.

“Shhh…” she tries, not wanting him to wake. “You’re okay. I’m here. We’re both here,” she whispers into thick air. He settles again, turning his cheek into her palm.

She truly does not want to wake him. He needs his rest. He needs time to heal after what he did for her. But she cannot help but touch him. She needs to touch him. She needs to feel his heartbeat beneath her fingertips, needs to feel his breath tickle her skin.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Something in him aches when she leaves to return to the South Pole. He tells her as much and she writes to him that she’s coming back immediately to check on him.

She’s not lying. As soon as her ship docks, she runs the entire way to the palace. She bursts into his study and sweeps around to stand before him, not bothering to say hello before her hands are on him.

“Katara, I’m fine,” he protests as she lingers over the still-healing wound on his chest.

“Hush.”

Her touch is light and soothing. He wants to melt into it, but he holds himself steady. He fixes his gaze over her shoulder.

Katara hums and tuts as she checks him up and down. “You’re healing nicely,” she says.

“Thank you?”

“Are you getting plenty of rest? Using that salve I left for you?”

“Yes, Katara.”

“Good.”

“So?” he asks.

“So?” she echoes.

“Did you find anything?”

“Nothing out of place.”

Zuko clears his throat. Looks everywhere but at her. “Well, thank you for checking. And for coming all the way back here.”

“You’re welcome.”

There’s a pause. Her hand is still on his chest. He steals a glance at her and wishes he hadn’t. The words come tumbling out without his permission.

“You didn’t have to, you know,” he says, quietly.

“I wanted to,” she answers, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He swallows, tries to meet her eyes, but they’re glued to the star of marred skin and knotted flesh beneath her hand.

“You didn’t have to, you know,” she says, voice wavering a syllable or two before she recomposes herself.

“Yes, I did.”

*_*_*_*_*_*

Days turn into weeks and Katara stays. Zuko offers her the position of ambassador. It’s a thinly veiled excuse, he knows, but it’s substantiated by the fact that there truly is no one more capable and qualified in the world than Katara.

When she accepts, she moves forward immediately to embrace him, then catches herself. She takes a step backward and looks down, embarrassed at her own eagerness.

It takes less than a second for Zuko to decide that is a look he never wants to see on her face again. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. She fits so well in his arms that he thinks she might literally be his other half. Then she tucks her head under his chin and removes all doubt.

Weeks turn into months. They work well together. They laugh and bump shoulders and brush hands. They spar and let touches linger. They sit closer than necessary during meals and meetings. The heat rolls off him in waves and Katara is drawn to it like a wanderer seeking shelter in the wild.

Months turn into years and Katara leaps into his arms at every opportunity. His arms are always open, waiting for her.

At some point along the way, Katara becomes deeply aware of the cold left behind when he steps away and the empty space between her fingers when his hand isn’t in hers. The iron-casing around her heart begins to feel less like armor and more like jail.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Zuko comes to her. Knocks on her door one night, barefoot, hair loose, dressed in nothing but his sleeping pants and an untied robe hastily tossed over his shoulders.

“Katara, I—”

She doesn’t let him finish. She can’t.

Instead, she draws him in. She is a magnet, and he is true North. She pushes the robe off his shoulders, mouths at every inch of skin she can see. And once she’s done that, she tugs at his clothing until there’s more to see, more to feel, more to touch, more to—

“Katara,” he says, giving her pause. “We don’t have to. I never meant to – I mean, I don’t want to assume that–“

She pushes him onto the bed and his words fall off the edge of the world. Never to be heard again.

Physical touch feels simple. Easy. It’s what they both want. It’s what they both need.

It feels right.

Right, but not enough.

* * *

* * *


	2. words of affirmation

* * *

* * *

The touches don’t stop. But the words between the touches are new.

“You’re doing everything you can.”

“You’re a good person.”

“Trust yourself. You’re strong and capable and smart. You’ll make the right decision.”

These are the words she says to him.

_I see your heart and I know what’s in it._

These are the words she doesn’t say to him.

*_*_*_*_*_*

“You’re a natural leader.”

“You fight so hard for so many people.”

“Know yourself. You deserve everything you give.”

These are the words he says to her.

_And so much more._

These are the words he doesn’t say to her.

*_*_*_*_*_*

She comes to him. Or he comes to her. It doesn’t really matter anymore. Sometimes it’s slow and soft under the blankets, whispered words swirling around them. Sometimes it’s hard and fast on top of his desk where the guttural sounds of pleasure are the extent of their speech.

Zuko strokes her hair afterward. “Katara?”

“Zuko?”

“I wish you could stay.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

“I know. But still.”

Words are comforting. Words are beautiful decorations. But they are only that – decoration and distraction.

Beautiful, but not enough.

* * *

* * *


	3. gifts

* * *

* * *

“Dots,” Zuko says, scrutinizing the pieces of parchment Katara has given him.

Katara sighs and rolls her eyes. “Not dots. Stars.” She points at the white points amidst a darkly inked background. “See the constellations?”

“Ah. Yes, now I do.”

“Aren’t you a sailor?”

“I spent three years on a ship, Katara. That doesn’t make me a sailor.” He elbows her lightly and she laughs.

“These are celestial maps. I made one for the stars you can see from here and one for those I can see from the South Pole. I labeled all the constellation names for you. All you have to do is take this outside on a dark night and look up. And,” she says as she taps the edge of the map labeled ‘Caldera’ “these ones labeled in purple ink are the ones we can both see.”

He smiles, traces the characters of her handwriting. “Thank you.”

*_*_*_*_*_*

Zuko sees her off at the docks as he always does. Her trips between the Fire Nation and the Southern Water Tribe are frequent, coming and going every month or so.

Katara smiles that beautiful smile of hers and the sun is dim in comparison.

“Wait!” he almost forgets to say as she walks away.

She turns back to him, interest piqued. “Yes?”

“Um.” Zuko digs around in his pocket. “I got you this.” He holds a jeweled hairpin in his hand. It’s a lacquered red camelia, its center dotted with sapphires.

“Oh,” Katara makes a soft sound as she inspects it. She holds it up to the light and watches it sparkle.

“I know how much you like the flowers here. But the tropical flowers wouldn’t do well down South. So, I wanted to get you one that would live forever.”

“Zuko, this is beautiful.”

“I thought it would look nice in your hair.”

“I think it will. Will you put it in for me?” She turns her back to him and he nestles it in the crown of braids that has become her signature style.

“Well?” she says when he’s done. “How do I look?”

“Radiant.”

*_*_*_*_*_*

Katara lays the hairpin on the table beside her bed. It gleans in the low light, a stark contrast of lively red against the cool tones of her bedroom.

Something in her sparks whenever she looks at it.

It sparks and sputters – bright one moment, gone the next. It’s the same feeling she’s spent years chasing down, trying to pin it long enough to get a good look at it. But in hides in the shadows and behind the words they don’t say.

The gift is lovely. It makes her think of him.

She wonders if thousands of miles away, he is thinking of her too, spinning a piece of parchment between his fingers and looking up at the night sky.

And she hopes that maybe he feels this elusive spark of something too. She hopes that maybe he has a name for it.

The gift is lovely. And it makes her hope that maybe, just maybe—

But hope is not enough.

* * *

* * *


	4. quality time

* * *

* * *

When Katara returns a month or so later, they take dinner together on the balcony. Katara always insists on eating after dark. They discuss things openly, laugh freely, and, as of late, tease each other mercilessly. Zuko makes this little pouty face whenever Katara lands a particularly good one on him and it is too much for her to handle. She tosses her head back, giggling uncontrollably.

When she opens her eyes again, she goes quiet a long moment, transfixed by the millions of pinholes of light in the black fabric of the universe. She picks six or seven out, traces them slowly, tastes their name on her tongue.

“Pyxis?” Zuko guesses, following her gaze.

“Wow. I’m impressed. You’ve been studying.”

“Every night.”

“Would you like to know more?” she asks, getting up from her seat at the table to stand at the balcony’s edge.

Zuko follows her a moment later. “There are more?”

“Of course, there are more. Don’t you know? The stars and their stories are infinite.” He wraps his arms around her, and she begins to speak. She weaves together the story of the universe, threading her needle through the pinpoints of stars until they’re stitched together, beautiful and complete.

*_*_*_*_*_*

He finds her often laying among the lilies.

“Hiding from your duties, Ambassador?”

Katara cracks one eye open at him and brings a finger to her lips. As if there were anyone around to hear them. As if they could be heard. They’re in his mother’s private garden, secluded from the bustle of the palace.

“Shhh, Zuko. Don’t rat me out to the Fire Lord,” she says as she gets to her feet.

Zuko laughs, “Yeah, I’ve heard that guy is a real hard ass.”

“He is. Works me to the bone.”

He laughs again and offers her his arm. She loops her own arm through and rests her other hand on his elbow.

They stroll aimlessly through the garden, Zuko talking about this and that – and Katara listens happily. It’s rare for him to talk so much all at once and it strikes her just how much she enjoys the sound of his voice.

The afternoon passes too quickly, and they find themselves in the shade of the willow tree near the pond. Katara dips her feet in the water and Zuko tries to entice a turtleduckling into his hand with a piece of bread. It nibbles at the bread, getting closer and closer until it hops into his hand, nestling into his palm.

His features relax into peaceful bliss as he pets its fluffy head. “Look!” he mouths silently to Katara, not wanting to startle the baby animal.

“I know!” she mouths back.

Zuko pets it for a while before he leans over to Katara, offering the turtleduckling for her to hold. She holds her hands out—

“Fire Lord Zuko!” The shout booms across the garden. The little turtleduckling startles and flutters out of Zuko’s hand. It topples onto the ground before running for the safety of the water.

Zuko sighs deeply. The sanctuary they had built for themselves crumbles.

“Duty calls,” he says, remorseful. “Another time?”

“Another time,” Katara agrees.

Time is all they’ve ever wanted. Time to simply be. Time to heal. Time to live as people without the weight of the world on their shoulders.

But there is never enough time.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pyxis = the constellation of the mariner’s compass. (She called herself a magnet and him true North. Hence this reference.)


	5. acts of service

* * *

* * *

Midnight is a fairly predictable time. Katara is awake. Zuko isn’t.

That’s the norm; that’s what they’ve come to understand as normal for the other. Katara tries not to keep him up late at night and Zuko knows better than to try and rouse her early in the morning.

So, when Zuko drags himself down the hall one night after midnight, the sandbags of sleep are weighing heavily on him. He glances into Katara’s office out of habit and nothing more, a “Goodnight” ready on his lips as he passes. But the flicker of a nearly spent candle in her otherwise dark office captures his attention and he pauses in the doorway.

That’s unusual. He enters her office.

Katara’s slumped form makes his heart leap into his throat. She’s there passed out on her desk with her cheek pressed to a scroll. He prods her gently and she doesn’t stir. He pokes her in her ribs – the place he knows she’s terribly ticklish – and her hand only twitches.

His knees crack as he bends down next to her. She doesn’t react. He slides a hand under her legs and behind her shoulders and begins to lift. The scroll sticks to her cheek for a second before falling to the desk with a loud _thunk!_ She still doesn’t react.

It’s the dead of night and the sound of Katara’s heavy breath is the only thing that breaches the secret of him carrying her in his arms, meandering through the hallways that divide the public portion of the palace from the private living quarters.

Zuko sets her down as gently as possible on her bed. There’s ink on her cheek from where she fell asleep on top of a scroll. He gets up to get her a washcloth and his hand is on the doorhandle when a quiet “Stay,” stops him.

He turns back to Katara. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, and her voice is rough with sleep when she says, “Please.”

He pads back over to her, sits on the edge of the bed, “What is it, Katara?”

It’s a warm night, but she shivers. He watches the goosebumps erupt on her arms.

He reaches out for her almost instinctively. Doesn’t think about it until after he’s laid a warm hand across her skin and she blinks up at him.

“Stay,” she says again.

He wouldn’t, couldn’t, doesn’t refuse her.

Katara sighs and settles herself under the covers. Zuko lies beside her. She reaches behind her head and grabs her pillow – the good one. Zuko’s spent enough time in her bed to know which of the hundred pillows on her bed are good and which are rocks covered with fabric.

“Here.” She motions for him to lift his head and he does. “I know you like the softer ones,” she says, placing the pillow underneath his head.

“Thank you.”

She turns on her side to face him. The air between them has _something_ in it and they each breathe it in deeply, letting it run warm through their veins and lull them to sleep.

*_*_*_*_*_*

“Is something bothering you?” Zuko asks her a few days later. They’re having tea in the courtyard, making the most of the few minutes of free time that overlap in their schedules. Katara sit across from him, face flushed and uncharacteristically quiet.

“No. I’m fine.” She holds her teacup with both hands and scowls at it until little ice crystals begin to form on its surface. A bead of sweat drips down the side of her face.

“Righhhhht,” Zuko says, blowing on his own tea. Why they’re drinking hot tea in the summer, he couldn’t tell you. Habit, perhaps?

Katara holds her hands out expectantly. It takes him a moment to realize she’s waiting for him to pass her his tea so she can cool it.

“You can tell me, you know,” he says.

“It’s nothing. I’m just stressed.” She hands his cup back to him. She’s made a tiny tea-ice sculpture of a flame surrounded by rolling waves. “And hot,” she adds after a moment.

Zuko sips his tea thoughtfully.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Sunrise is a fairly predictable time. Zuko is awake. Katara isn’t.

Zuko wakes her and she swats at him.

“Come on. I have a surprise for you.” He pulls the curtains open and light streams into her room.

“Nooooo.” She pulls the blankets up over her head.

“It’s worth getting up for.”

She peeks at him – just a little. The bright light of morning has never been enough motivation to get Katara out of bed. But there’s something in the warmth of his eyes and the sincerity of his smile that she decides is worth it.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Zuko presses hard to keep Katara distracted while they travel. From inside the carriage, Katara pretends not to notice the way the noise of the city fades or how the air dries out and a chill creeps in.

When the carriage eventually slows, Zuko is out and dragging Katara behind him before it has fully stopped.

Katara has experienced her fair share of twists and surprises throughout her life. And even though she knows Zuko is up to something, nothing might have prepared her for the utterly jarring scene that lay before them.

White. So much white. It covers the ground, lines the sparse trees, and dusts the black rocks everywhere. It’s nothing short of dazzling, the overhead sun calling iridescence from everything it touches.

Katara freezes, mouth agape. “How?”

Zuko glances over to her and chuckles. “Yeah, I didn’t know this existed either. But I’ve been thinking lately that maybe you could use a little break. I did some research and I discovered that there is indeed snow and ice here in the Fire Nation. We just had to go to the top of a volcano to find it.”

Katara gapes at him more, if that’s even possible.

“Don’t worry. This is one of the dormant ones.”

Katara eventually shuts her mouth and steps forward, the snow crunching pleasantly beneath her feet. She lets the cool air fill her lungs and for a few moments she does nothing but breathe and just…exist.

There’s an ache in her heart. But its name isn’t pain or longing or sadness. It’s more like the ache in her muscles when she’s trained too hard or the stretch in her belly when she’s eaten too much. It’s the ache of fullness. The ache of a heart full to bursting.

She looks over to the person responsible for putting it there. He’s busy setting up a picnic – laying out a thick blanket over a smooth patch of snow. He decorates it with a few fire lilies here and there. There’s wine and rice and fish and a jar of pickled sea prunes.

And the ache has a name, she realizes. It crawls out of her and spills over her cheeks. Zuko wipes away her tears.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“You didn’t,” she says in a shaky voice. She reaches up to cup his face in her hands. “I’m not sad. I’m happy.” Her fingers ghost over the edges of his scar.

He closes his eyes and inhales. His words are balanced on top of his breath as he exhales, “I’m happy too.” They tumble downward to the land of denial – to the land of things they do not allow themselves to have.

Katara catches them before they’re gone.

And those words, this touch, this day – are they enough?

* * *

* * *


	6. a language all our own

* * *

* * *

In the end, they’re no longer touch-starved, affection-starved children of war. They’ve changed their clothes, exchanged weapons for treaties. They’ve allowed the salt and sweat of the other to corrode their iron armor. It falls away in pieces, so slowly that it could hardly be called intentional.

They follow no rules. They wouldn’t know what to do with them anyway. The structure and syntax and grammar of their language makes sense to no one but them.

“Zuko, I—” she tells him one day. The words are right there on the tip of her tongue. But she can’t say them. Why can’t she say them?

The words are correct. They’re true.

But they can’t contain it all.

They aren’t enough.

Maybe it was never about learning to speak at all. Maybe they tell each other all they need to in the grasp of hands, the shared looks, the whispers in the night. Maybe they never needed to say it.

It’s in everything. No single thing, but every single thing.

They end without words.

Because of course they do.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a special thank you to fictionissocialinquiry for creating this challenge! it was a lot of fun.
> 
> hope you enjoyed my take on it! let me know if you did!
> 
> ❤️🧡💛  
> -kay


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